


pearls of cream

by merryfortune



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Eczema, Fluff, Other, POV Second Person, Self Insert, Self-Indulgent, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:46:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25500835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merryfortune/pseuds/merryfortune
Summary: Spectre pampers the reader by giving them hand massages to help soothe their inflamed skin.
Relationships: Spectre/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	pearls of cream

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for very specifically for me, please bear that in mind when reading.

Spectre sits down beside you on the chaise lounge where you had been relaxing. He had been watching, eagle eyed and attentive for some time, as you used your laptop on the adjacent lounge. 

“May I see your hand?” he asks but he doesn’t wait for a reply.

He merely takes your left hand, as it is closer to him, and inspects it. He can see rough skin on either side of where your index and middle fingers meet. 

“I see.” he murmurs, more to himself than you. His eyes flick up and you catch a flash of blue quickly. “May I see your other hand?”

“If you want.” You reply.

You stop what you were doing on your laptop and shuffle around so that you are sitting closer still to him. Your knees nudge up against his as you close your laptop. It’s case is lightweight and it whirrs, going to sleep. You show him your other hand, a little embarrassed.

He inspects your fingers and it is obvious that your eczema flare up is worse on your right hand. Your fingers, particularly your middle, is raw and rough, a long expanse of redness takes up a lot of the middle finger, even reaching around your knuckles. Glancing down your arm, Spectre sees a patch of rough skin on your wrist and on the crook of your arm. 

“It is important to duellists to have nice hands.” Spectre chides you. He doesn’t mean it harshly but just as a point of fact. Neutral.

“We barely duel offline…” You sheepishly point out.

The corners of his lips twitch. True, it seems that he found himself thinking. 

“You know I don’t like how greasy my hands get after I moisturise.” You point out, almost feeling like a child. What a bad habit to have.

Nonetheless, Spectre is understanding. Patient with you even. His eyes soften and he sighs.

“Then, it would honour me to be of assistance.” Spectre says.

You smile sweetly for him. Taking a breath, your chest rises slightly. You feel royal at the prospect of being pampered by Spectre. You would like it a lot, actually, if he were to be of assistance so you grant him permission to help you.

He gets up and the lounge doesn’t feel all that cosy anymore. You put your laptop away so it can’t bother either of you. He is swift in retrieving the ointments and moisturisers from the bathroom’s vanity cabinets. He sets them down on the coffee table, in the shade of the overhanging leaves from one of his many potted plants that he has dotted about.

Continuing on with that almost royal feeling, Spectre kneels in front of you. He caresses both your hands, almost seductive and then flashing you a smile. It is then, and only then, that he reaches for the first of the creams that he intended to lather you with. He seems elegant as he holds it, taking off the cap.

“Does it hurt to flex your fingers at all?” he asks.

“A little.” You confess, you felt odd confessing that since, before when you were working in your laptop, you had barely noticed the slight pain but now, that slight twinge was all you could focus on internally.

“Fool.” he gently scolds you.

You know. You feel a little bad but you know. You really should get into the habit but it was made difficult by your reluctance to fork the habit in the beginning but Spectre wordlessly kisses such things better. He kisses the top of your knuckles and smiles to himself. His lips, petal soft, ghost over your fingertips. His breath is warm on your skin. Your heartbeat quickens. As he leans back, assessing your hands, he chooses your right hand, so much more severe in the flare up compared to the other, to pamper first.

He smears a good sized pearl of ointment on your right palm and lathers it in. You can’t help but to watch, fascinated. His hands are delicate. Loving as he rubs in the cream, massaging your hands and fingers. He was careful, using just the right amount of force without needing correction from you. He just knew. He paid special attention where your skin flare up was the worst; being extra gentle but extra attentive as well. Wanting nothing but the best for you, it felt.

You held your breath as you watched him massage your hand and fingers. It was magical, like watching a potter spin and mould clay. You felt a little hot under the collar, thankful too. But the greasy feeling afterwards, when the white cream had been rubbed in, did well to evaporate those rather lovely feelings and sensations from before.

“Show me your other hand.” he commands of you.

You give him your other hand and he starts the process all over again. He starts on the love lines of your palm before paying attention to your fingers suffering from the flare up the most. 

You smile warmly as he massages your hand, spreading that somewhat cold cream over your skin. It has a somewhat clinical smell to it, and he seems to notice that you mildly dislike said smell when he finishes up massaging your hand.

“I have some more ornamental creams as well to rehydrate your skin, I was thinking honey and milk would smell nice on you, or do you have another preference? I have ylang ylang cream as well.” he tells you.

“Honey milk is fine.” You reply, an awkward smile.

“Understood.” His voice is quiet, murmuring, but he still enunciates clearly.

“Thank you.” You tell him. Words tumbling out with gratitude.

Spectre hums to himself, contented greatly to be praised,then, almost beneath his breath, he replies: “The pleasure is all mine.”

Your heart grows warm hearing that.

And then your hands grow cold as Spectre slathers them both with the honey milk moisturiser to follow up the more clinical skin cream from before. He notices that you tense, slightly, and relishes your surprise. 

With the utmost care, so much that it felt divine, he caresses both your hands, massaging in the cream. This one is an off yellow, soft and pastel to complement its sweet scent that it gave off. You breathe a little deeper to enjoy that fragrance. When you exhale, you exhale it as a giggle. Spectre is unperturbed as he lavishes your hands with the cream, finishing up. He is so careful with you that it feels like a dream as he massages your hands over and over, making sure that you could want for nothing as he pampers you. Spoils you rotten, even.

“Does that feel better?” he asks, looking up from your hands and you catch his gaze briefly. It’s utterly star struck, made in a heavenly blue.

You flex your fingers, wriggling them inside the cupped caress of Spectre’s hands.

“Much better.” You reply.

Again, Spectre keens with pride, adoring to be praised and you adore to affirm him. He doesn’t let go of your hands. He holds them, not minding the greasy after feeling of either cream and moisturiser, his gaze softly comes down onto your lips. Your mouth. He leans in and initiates the kiss. And he makes you feel as though you are his majesty, worthy of his worship and his feelings, greasy hands and all. It's splendid. 

**Author's Note:**

> ft a poem I wrote:
> 
> **Climbing Trees**
> 
> I want to kiss his knuckles  
> His nails are neat but dirt dusted  
> His palms are red and raw  
> Fallen down, as high as he could on bark,  
> On his knees, teary eyed and in a heap,  
> The tree behind us, motherly and verdant,  
> Watches us kindly as I kiss her son  
> Kiss away his loneliness  
> Reward his thankless devotion  
> With sweetest dues


End file.
